


Ripples

by Astronut



Series: Ripples AU [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronut/pseuds/Astronut
Summary: Stories from the Corellian Home / Ripples Universe.Just as a single drop of water can disturb an entire pond, a single life can change a galaxy.  This is an alternate universe where one minor event reshapes an entire galaxy.  Here, the story that shaped the Corellian Home galaxy is told in a series of vignettes from different points of view in different styles.  Some show the large scale, others the small.  All of them show a galaxy formed in the absence of single X-wing pilot.An Alternative Universe from the Legends Universe.





	1. 4 BBY - Gus Treta - A Bit of Excitement

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the Jedi Council Forums in 2006. 
> 
> Please do not repost without permission.

4 BBY 

Gus Treta Station

A Bit of Excitement

Zena attempted to smooth down her short dark hair, but it was hopeless. Sweat and idle, worried hands had plastered it in clumps and spikes that defied gravity. Jagged smiled at amusement at her attempt, and bent down, gently kissing her grease-smudged forehead. “It looks fine. I doubt either Booster or Veggies will notice.” 

Before them, a sleek Baudo class yacht settled unto her landing pads amidst a bustling hanger. The landing ramp was hardly down before a dark-haired boy bounded out towards the couple. “Mom! Dad!” 

Zena pulled her energetic son into an embrace, holding him tightly. “What are they feeding you down there on the surface? You’re almost taller than I am.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

He pulled a way, his face redding. “Come on Mom, not on the hanger deck. You promised. Listen, do you mind if I go see Roit, now? He wrote and told me he just got a new holo game I should see.” 

“Fine, just make sure you unpack first and that you’re home in time for diner. I want to hear how school’s going and we need to talk about your application to that school in Coronet.” 

“Thanks, Mom. Hi, Dad. Bye Dad! Thanks, Booster!” He was already off, running down the corridor, his duffel bag in tow, bouncing down the hall behind him. 

Zena turned her attention to the tall, broad man in front of her. “Thanks for picking him up from school, Booster.” 

“No problem, Zena. I had a cargo that needed delivering. And it’s always good to have an excuse to bother your old man here for an engine tune up.” 

“Wedge and I just replaced that fusion chamber on that engine last year. It should be good for another ten years or so provided you take proper care of it.” Jagged gave Booster a welcoming clap on the back. 

“Nah, the engine is working great. Just wondering what it would take to modify that hyperdrive. There are rumors of some nut out in Hutt Space that can make .5 past light speed.” He leaved over and gave Zena a gentle hug. 

Zena punched him lightly in the shoulder as he withdrew from the embrace. “It’ll take a lot more credits than you have, Terrik.” 

“How about my first born?” 

Jagged smiled slyly. “Trouble with Myra again?” 

“She wants to wear make-up and get her hair cut.” He snorted. “Next thing you know, I’ll have to beat the boys off with my blaster.” Booster looked closely at Zena. “Speaking of hair, what’s wrong, Zena?”

“We had a bit of excitement just before you landed. Some _Bonestar_ pirates got spooked when your Corsec friend showed up and took of without disconnecting.” 

Booster growled, “Stupid mynocks. They’re going to get themselves and a lot of others killed with their stupidity. Where’s the profit in that? So how come this orbiting hulk isn’t scrap?” 

Jagged looked solemn. “The electronic govern was able to detect the heat flux and close the valves before the flame flashed back up the hose. The odds those old sensors could detect that flux that fast were small enough even a Corellian would pay attention. The Force must have been with us.” 

“It was a very near thing.” The distraction of Wedge’s homecoming was now wearing off, and her hands were beginning to shake slightly. Her husband squeezed her shoulders. 

“Well, for once I hope Horn gets his man. Those blaster brained idiots don’t deserve to run free.” 

“Well, never mind that now. Let’s get back to the apartment and Jagged will fix you up a nice home cooked meal.”

“I will, will I?” Jagged questioned bemusedly. 

“Oh yes, you don’t want me poisoning our guest and pour Veggies wishing for break to end already, do you? Besides, Booster and I need to have a little chat about Myra.” She tugged on Booster’s arm, leading him towards the apartment. 

Jagged shook his head. “Just remember,” he called after her, “if you make a betrothal agreement, I want a lawyer to look over it. I don’t trust this old pirate.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face, he followed his wife back to the apartment to go make dinner. 


	2. 0 ABY - Forth Moon of Yavin - A Couple of Shooting Stars

0 ABY

Forth Moon of Yavin

A Couple of Shooting Stars

“Red One, on station.” That was Garven Dreis. Captain Dreis hadn’t seemed to mind that Luke didn’t have any experience in an X-Wing. He had merely clapped him on the shoulder and told Luke that if he had half the skill of his father, he’d be fine. Luke hadn’t even known his father could pilot a fighter. 

“Red Two, standing by.” That was John D. Luke knew that John was still a little of unsure of him. He didn’t place much trust on womprat bragging Luke had done back in the briefing room. 

“Red Three, ready to go.”

“Red Four, in the green.”

“Red Five, on station.” That was Commander Narra. He had come late to the briefing, but Dreis had immediately reorganized Red Squadron to add Narra as a flight leader. He would be Luke’s immediate superior for his first military combat run. 

“Red Six, let’s do this.” That was Jek Porkins. Luke had only met the jovial pilot called Piggy briefly before he had to suit up. 

“Red Seven, standing by.” That was Biggs. _Good old Biggs_. A little forward and off to starboard. They would protect each other’s backs just as they had all their lives. _We’re a couple of shooting stars, we’ll never be stopped. _

“Red Eight, how do you read?” _Oh, right. That was me. _

“Red Eight here. Ready to go.” Luke grinned sheepishly as he straightened his helmet. A whistle issued from Artoo. “Yes, Artoo. I promise that I’ll keep my mind on the battle and not get us killed or anything. Just trust me.” 

The rest of the Reds finished the call off as the starfighters cleared the atmosphere. As they soared around the curvature of the red gas giant, an unnatural moon cleared Yavin horizon. The com channel remained silent as the warriors took in the sight of the gigantic fortress moon. Their target, a small equatorial trench, could barely be seen from this distance. 

“Okay, men,” Captain Dreis’ voice broke the silence, “Let’s do our job and head home. Lock S-Foils into attack position.” 

***

As the final TIE in Luke’s immediate vicinity disappeared into a quickly expanding ball of gas, Luke took a moment to collect himself. They had already lost the support squadron as well as Three Flight. Piggy was gone too, unable to pull his fighter out of a fatal dive. The echo of “I can hold it” still rang in Luke’s head. Narra now flew without a wingman. Biggs, fortunately, was still faithfully on Luke’s wing. 

“This Red One. Commencing attack run.” The Captain’s voice crackled over the com. 

“Negative, abort! We’ve got three TIEs coming in hot from seven o’clock,” came John D.’s panicked cry. 

“Two, Four, stay back and keep them off me. We’re almost there.” 

Luke looped and vaped a TIE, his mind more on the com chat than the deadly green light that spilled around him. Two screams alerted him to the dire crisis that one flight faced. 

“Two flight, this is Narra. Form up for our run.” 

“The Captain…,” Luke interjected, still hoping that Dreis would nail the target. 

But the com speak only further backed Narra’s order. “Almost there, almost there…AHHHH!!!” Any hope Luke had died with a blast of static. 

“We’re with you, Five. We’ll provide cover.” Biggs’ voice was steady and soothed Luke’s racing heart. 

“Negative. I want Eight making the run. She’s all yours, kid.” 

“So, no pressure Eight,” Biggs joked, forming up with Five on Luke’s wing. 

“Okay. Let’s go in fast to keep those fighters off us as long as possible.” He suited actions to words and pushed his throttle to full. 

“Just like Begger’s Canyon back home,” Biggs crowed, opening his own throttle. “We’re a couple of shooting stars, Luke, we’ll never be stopped.” 

***

Luke stood in the near empty hanger, the back of sweat-soaked flight suit leaning up against the front gear of his slightly singed X-Wing. He was oblivious to the noise and commotion around him as the others whooped and celebrated the Death Star’s demise. But Luke could not dredge enough joy from his heart to celebrate. 

The support squadron was gone. Twelve Y-Wings wiped out trying to provide a tempting distraction for TIEs. They had provided a feast for the blood thirsty TIEs, but it had only fueled their appetites. 

Red Squadron was gone. Three flight had quickly succumbed to the turbolaser fire and the starfighters. One flight had fallen victim to the three gifted pilots of those three terrible TIEs while making their trench run. 

Commander Narra was gone. The leader of the three TIEs, the one in the experimental model, had shot out his stabilizer early in the run. 

_“I’m hit! My stabilizer is out!”_

_“Get out of there, Commander. You can’t do anymore good back there!”_

_“I’ll be giving the orders, son. Keep your mind on your target, I’ll worry about my flying.” _

Narra had kept his X-Wing in the trench through skill and brute force. But it wasn’t enough. While dodging a piece of super structure, he over compensated, sending his X-Wing into an uncontrolled roll. The TIEs hadn’t expected the spinout any more than Narra himself, and two of them were destroyed, caught in the fireball that consumed Narra. 

Biggs was gone. He stayed on Luke’s wing to the end, bobbing and side-slipping, doing everything he had learned in the canyons of Tatooine and the Imperial Academy to keep the remaining TIE from firing on Luke. Finally, Biggs had resorted to placing himself bodily in the line of fire. 

_“Biggs, what are you doing? You’re going to get yourself killed! Stay out of his line of fire!”_

_“I’m doing my job. Now do yours so we can go home.” _

But it had taken precious seconds for Luke to recognize the voice telling him to _Use the Force_. Precious seconds more to understand the command. And a fateful few more to switch his targeting computer to manual. In those seconds, Biggs was lost. 

Han had been Luke’s salvation. Han had been the Alliance’s salvation. He had swooped in, guns blazing, to wing the persistent TIE and give Luke the time he needed to make his shot. The smuggler who once swore he was only in it for the money was now a hero. Now he stood in the middle of crowd of well wishers, arguing the concept of the Art of Timing with Princess Leia. 

And Luke was alone. The last member of Red Squadron. The only survivor of the Death Star Run. Save for Artoo, who now stood by his side, cheeping in an electronic language all his own, tugging on Luke’s flight suit leg. “Yes, Artoo, I’m coming.” He gathered his thoughts, locking them safely inside, and pasted a mask of cheer on his face before heading towards the crowd. 

After all, shooting stars may burn briefly, but they burned more brightly than any other star in the sky. And they could not be stopped. Even when they burned alone. 


	3. 2 ABY - Corellia - Intersections

2 ABY

Planet of Corellia

Intersections

Picking up her datapad from the seat, she stood up straight, shoulders squared. Hal gave her an encouraging smile from his place behind the wheel of the Corsec landspeeder. Leaving the safety of the green and black speeder behind, Iella approached the driver’s side of the older model blue XP-38. 

“Hello, Officer,” the driver greeted her. He must have heard her approach as his head was down, busily searching a mess of flimsy that coated the buried passenger seat. “Ahh, here it is!”

Iella’s hand strayed to the butt of her blaster as he jerked up, his tail of dark hair whipping back. Instead of a weapon, the man removed a battered copy of his registration from the pile. He grinned sheepishly at her. “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t ever seem to find the right paperwork.” 

Although his smile was some-what endearing, she replied icily, “Making a habit of speeding through intersections, are we?” 

He shrunk slightly in his seat as she flipped open her datapad to slide his I.D. through the scanner. “No, ma’am. I just didn’t see the sign.” The man, who must have been about her age, glanced guiltily at the pile of drafting flimsy beside him. 

“I take it you didn’t see the speed postings either?”

“Err, actually I’m in a bit of a hurry. My wedding rehearsal started ten minutes ago and I just got out of the office. My fiancé is going to kill me.” He frowned slightly, studying the steering wheel as she stowed the stylus she had been using in the pocket of her left sleeve. 

“Well Mr. Antilles, you need allot more time for travel and obey the traffic rules. If you want to fly fast and fancy, take it to the Academy. I’d hate to see you hurt someone and I expect your fiancé would agree.” The man smiled slightly at this. She glared at him and hit the print button, her pad expelling a small sheet of flimsy. “This is a ticket for a moving violation and a speed limit violation. It may be paid at Corellian Security Headquarters on 8th and Halcyon. They can also answer any questions you may have about your violation and the penalty.” Her stern expression broke slightly. “And congratulations.”

“Excuse me?” He looked up at her blankly.

“On getting married. May it bring you happiness.” She motioned for him to continue on, and smiling, she returned to Hal in the patrol speeder. 

As she climbed in, Hal congratulated her. “Good job on your first stop. See, you can handle this job. Just take it easy and remember your training.” 

She sighed in relief as she handed him her datapad. “Thanks Hal, couldn’t have done it without all of your training. Plus, the guy took it pretty well. I was worried I’d get one of those irate types.” 

“Let’s see, Antilles, huh? Pity his girlfriend wasn’t with him. I would have liked to check her for contraband.” Hal frowned at the pad. 

“You mean his fiancé? He said he was meeting her for their rehearsal diner.” 

His eyebrows rose. “So Terrik is getting married, huh? May be there’s hope for her yet.” 

Iella blinked in surprise. “You mean Booster’s daughter. She’s marrying this Antilles fellow? He doesn’t seem like her type. This guy looks like he spends all day in an office drawing. Seems like a nice guy, not a bad boy smuggler.”

“There’re old friends. She used to stay with his family when Booster was off on runs. Found out they were seeing each other during Booster’s trial.” He looked off in the distance at the tops of the skyscrapers. “Her settling down gives me hope. I’d hate to see someone pay for the sins of their fathers.” 

She snorted as Hal started the speeder. “If you were in such a hurry to see her settle down, you should have offered her Corran. They could’ve double dated with Diric and me.” 

Hal laughed. “Don’t even joke about that. The day my son marries a Terrik is the day the natural order gets its double helix twisted around the other way.” 


	4. 3 ABY - Derra IV - Derek of Derra

3 ABY, Shortly before the Battle of Hoth

Derra IV

Derek of Derra

“_Hopskip_, this is _Red Morning_. Stay close to your transport.” 

“_Morning_, you seem to have me mistaken for a starfighter.” 

Hobbie snorted into his com. “That mistake is becoming more common ever since Solo joined up. I suggest you take it up with Command. Until then, you’re a starfighter.” _Whether I like it or not_. 

Several small freighters of varying shapes rode escort position for a large convoy of humpbacked transports. Ideally, escort duty would have fallen to a squadron of starfighters, but trained pilots were in short supply ever since the Battle of Yavin. _Biggs, too bad you’re missing all this ‘teaching’ time. You would have loved it._

Biggs had attended the Academy with Hobbie. He and another cadet named Celchu had taken great pleasure in ‘teaching’ Hobbie to be a better pilot. Their favorite technique had been vaping him time and time again in the sims. But he had left all that. Biggs and he had left the Empire. And then Hobbie left Starfighter Command, preferring relatively peaceful gunrunning in the Sullust System to the frantic deadly dance of Red Squadron. That decision had probably saved his life, but it also resulted in his promotion to Lieutenant, in charge of escorting a major supply convoy. 

He sighed, and leaned further back in his pilot’s chair, gazing at the stars that burned brightly against the velvet backdrop of space. A female voice broke the silence. “So, Derek, how long do we have to sit here before we can get on our way?” 

Hobbie turned to glare at his dark-blonde copilot. “As long as it takes to run the final checks. We don’t want to be leading the Imps back to base. Especially after that weird little detour you guys took. And don’t call me Derek.” 

With her arms folded over her chest, she replied obstinately, “That’s your name, isn’t it? That’s what our contact information said, at least.” She had only arrived on board two jumps ago, but already Maranne was taking great delight in pushing every one of his buttons she could find. Surprisingly, she had found almost all of them. 

Finally loosing his temper, Hobbie snapped, “Listen, the only people who call me Derek are dead or Imps. Unless you want me to place you in one of those categories, I suggest you call me Hobbie.” He rotated his hip slightly to reveal his blaster, clearly suggesting which option he preferred. 

She glared icily at him. “What kind of name is Hobbie, anyway?” she muttered, turning back to the scanner. Mentally, Hobbie reminded himself once more to have Riij killed for suggesting that she take his place as copilot. Originally, she and Riij had temporarily transferred from the _Hopskip_ to the _Morning_ to the tale of their strange run in with the Imps and resulting detour to Corellia while transporting their valuable cargo of blasters. Unfortunately, Riij had suggested he remain on the _Hopskip_ for the rest of the journey while Maranne helped Hobbie. Security issues, he had argued. _Ex-Stormie or not, when I see him, I’m going to slug that son of a sandworm back to…Ahhh, who am I kidding? I’m doomed. _Closing his eyes, as if shutting away his misery, Hobbie resigned himself to several more hours with the annoying smuggler. 

“Derek, we’re picking up something on the scanner! Twenty TIEs inbound, Sector 8,” Maranne’s voice was calm, despite her obvious surprise. 

Hobbie growled. “All ships, we’ve got TIEs inbound. Transports, scatter and get out of here. Freighters, protect the transports as best you can.” 

“_Hopskip_ here, I’ve got more contacts from Sector 13.” 

“This is _Dayrider_, same in Sector 3.” 

Hobbie swore, pushing his throttle to full to meet the incoming TIEs. “Listen up, Omega Signal, Omega Signal, understood? There’s too many of them. Find your vector and go!” Several of the independent smugglers immediately jumped to hyperspace, unconcerned for their defenseless charges. 

Green light lanced along one of the transports, took hold, and ignited a red firey plume. As the Imps took advantage of the weakened freighter, pounding it until it disappeared with a white flash, two more transports cleared to hyper. Hobbie allowed himself a shout of brief joy, knowing that at least some of the supplies would make it. 

But his shout was masked by Maranne’s cry of pain. “Trell, curse you, get out of there!” Out of the corner of his eye, Hobbie saw the _Hopskip_ overtaken by TIEs, disintegrating into a sparkling cloud of debris. 

The scream of ion engines brought Hobbie back to his immediate problem. The _Red Morning_ rocked as the shields desperately tried to absorb the deadly green light pouring on the small freighter. “Shields are failing, we’re not last long enough to make the jump!” Maranne’s voice was strong even as tears lined her cheeks. 

“Hey, I’m the pessimist of this ship. Just get the coordinates ready and find a vector. Let me worry about the TIEs.” 

The com filled with the death screams of one of the transports. With a wrenching gut, Hobbie concentrated on fighting his way through the field of TIEs. A barrel roll to avoid a dual-linked lance, a sharp turn to avoid an ion blast. Bangs and thunks could be heard over the ion screams as the latches on the cargo in the back broke free. Finally, only a single TIE remained to impede their jump, the rest too far back or gaseous hydrogen. 

_Oh, great, just my luck. Why is the last guy standing always the best of them? _Hobbie was unable to shake the sole TIE. “Quit fooling around, or those other TIEs will be back on us,” Maranne shot at him. 

“I’m trying!” As he pulled a complicated sideslip meant to turn predator into prey, his stomach dropped. The TIE hand recognized the maneuver, and was already compensating. _Sith, another Fel trainee_. But Hobbie’s class had been called top graduating class for a reason. He fluttered his throttle and then jammed the stick hard to port, the freighter groaning under the stress of a maneuver usually reserved for fighters. 

The TIE remained in its place on his tail. At the Academy, only Biggs, Celchu, and their instructor Fel had been able to vape him. Ice formed deep in Hobbie’s guts. If this was Fel, then they were as good as dead. If this was Celchu, they were still as good as dead, murdered by a friend on the wrong side. 

His mind traced time back to his extra ‘training’ sessions.

_Celchu: “There are infinitely many ways to get an enemy off your tail. There are a finite number ways to do so with out getting killed. It’s just a matter of telling them apart.” _

Hobbie rolled over and pulled the stick up, sending the ship into a sharp negative dive. The TIE followed. 

_Biggs: “You can’t rely on luck. The only thing that is going to save your hide is skill. That, and the laws of physics.” _

He pushed the stick down, reversing his dive into a sharp climb. Seeing the freighter begin to change its direction, the small TIE quickly reversed its direction as well. But mass of the freighter resisted the change of direction for an instant longer than that of the tiny fighter. And for that one precious instant, the TIE was in front of the freighter. 

“Got him!” Maranne crowed as the TIE disappeared into a spark of light. “Coordinates are loaded, let’s get out of here!” 

As the battered ship lurched into hyperspace, Hobbie reclined in his chair, wiping the sweat from his brow. His heart was rushing. _I had forgotten how much I hated dogfights. And how much I loved flying fighters. _Perhaps it was time to reconsider his decision to leave Starfighter Command. “Nice shot, by the way,” he commented to Maranne once he had calmed his nerves. 

“Couldn’t have made it without your fancy flying. Good job, Derek.” She patted his knee as she rose to see how big of a mess he had made out of the cargo. 

He watched her leave the cockpit. _But perhaps flying freighters wasn’t all that bad_.


	5. 3 ABY - Hoth - Crazy Jedi Drivers

3 ABY

Planet of Hoth

Crazy Jedi Drivers

They say he’s a Jedi. That the Force guided the torpedo that took out the Death Star. That the Force was the reason he alone survived the slaughter of the Battle of Yavin. That he survived, while so many other great pilots didn’t. 

That doesn’t matter to me. I mean sure, who wouldn’t want a little Force power? A little better piloting ability, a little extra heat at night, a little sneakier method for getting tauntaun droppings into Dack’s bunk. But honestly, he’s just a pilot. The best we’ve got. 

And that’s why I feel honored to be his gunner. Because I know I’m placing my life in the hands of the best pilot we have, and he trusts my skills enough to place his life in my hands. I, Flight Officer Wes Janson, am rear gunner for Ace Pilot, Jedi Commander Luke Skywalker. So I’m grinning like an idiot as a put my helmet on, despite knowing those walkers are bringing death my way. Luke’s a little more serene, a little more tired, a little more worried. Of course, getting into a fistfight with a wampa will do that to you. 

Han says he used to be more brash, more lively, more innocent. He still is, but there’s this charred coating covering it. Yavin burned him. It burned me, too. One day, everyone in the med wing, teasing me about laying low, the next, they’re gone. So many at once, even if he didn’t know them long, it had to hurt. So, he doesn’t stay with any one squadron for long. He drifts from squad to squad, fighting a little, training a little, all the while not getting close. We’re fortunate he’s joined Echo Squadron for this battle, we’re going to need every ounce of help we can get. Even from depressed, brilliant, crazy, Jedi. 

But that was then and this is now, as I’ve heard a million times. As the whine of the repulsorlifts increases and the canopy closes, it’s time to put all joking aside. Even if I really wanted to make a little stuffed wampa for Luke to hold for good luck. It’s a shame I can’t sew. 

Do you know how annoying it is to fly backward? I mean it’s nice and all to be able to shoot at things that have already passed you; they stay in your field of view longer. But you’re seeing the past, you can’t see the future. You can’t see that the walkers are raining fiery red bolts upon you. Did I mention the nausea? It’s funny, it must be something that you learn as you get older: Going backwards is Bad. As a kid, I could go any which way. As an adult, let’s just say Luke better be glad I’m an experienced rear gunner, or he’d be dealing with a bit of a mess. 

Speaking of messes, the mechanic who worked on this thing should be shot. The fire control isn’t working. I had to cut it to manual on the outbound leg of our little excursion. Good thing, too, or all these near misses would be setting it off. Okay, so I lied. They’re not misses, that was definitely a hit. Luke, what the Kessel are you doing? Yes, I know lasers won’t pierce that armor. Now if we had our X-Wings, that would be a different matter. Not these little modified hunks of junk. 

He wants me to use the tow cable to trip the walker. That I can do. Pity there isn’t a giant door somewhere on Hoth. Then I could setup a nice, ice-cold bucket of water to go with that trip wire. Harpoon away! Nice shot, if I do say so myself. And I think I will, since Luke has no comment. I guess he must be concentrating on getting that tow cable wrapped nice and tight. 

Make that he better be concentrating! I felt that. I don’t think it’s possible to miss a jolt that big. Yep, I see blue sky. We’re going down. Crazy Jedi, doesn’t he know that he’s suppose to avoid the red beams, not run into them? Well, they say it’s safer to take sudden decelerations backwards rather than forwards. 

Oof. Those straps hurt, cutting into my chest like that, but they seemed to have saved my helmet from any damage. I worked hard on that paint job, those yellow stripes. It’s unique, unlike those standard Rebel emblems. Individuality makes identifying the bodies easier. But it looks like I won’t be a body just yet. Nope, out of the cockpit and into the snowstorm. 

Kriff, those things are huge. Giant lumbering, mechanical beasts. Hey, look, it even doubles as a speeder crusher! Good thing Luke got his lightsaber out of there before it blew. He can’t very well be a Jedi without a lightsaber. 

Make that a crazy Jedi. What does he think he’s doing with that grappling cable? Never mind, I see that detonator, I’m getting out of here. The shock wave knocks me flat on my face, and I find myself spitting out snow. That’s the first walker down. With how many to go? And with one less snowspeeder. Well, that Celchu kid seems pretty talented, maybe he can down a few. 

Luke is uninjured, Force knows how. There he goes, jogging back to base, waving at Samaoc as she flies by. Me, I’m shaking my head in amazement. That’s the last time I ride with Luke. 

Crazy Jedi drivers.

I wonder if I can thumb a ride back to base.


	6. 4 ABY - Endor - I’m On My Way Out

4 ABY

Planet of Endor

I’m On My Way Out

“All fighters commence attack on the Death Star,” Ackbar’s gravelly voice came in over the com. _I knew Han would come through._

“It’s about time. Red group! Gold group! Follow me!” _Now that Han has done his job, we can do ours._ Lando pushed his stick down, plunging the B-Wing towards the surface of the Death Star. TIEs nipped at the starfighters’ heels. “Blue group, draw away those fighters! Everyone else, stay close. We’re going in!” _Okay, we can do this. Easier than the Battle of Taanab. _He activated the switch that powered the actuators in the S-Foils, compacting the cross-shaped B-Wing into its long, thin cruise configuration. 

The fighters followed the broken superstructure of the Death Star, skirting by both turbolaser and turbocrane. The dark mouth of the reactor shaft grew in front of them as green laser fire darted up to meet them. Diving into the shaft, the starfighters were met with twists and turns and structural obstructions. Not to mention the TIEs following them. Gold Three burst into a bright blaze, illuminating a truss seconds before Lando slid by. “Gold Leader, take your group and break off. Find your way back to the surface and see if you can’t take some of those TIEs with you.”

“Roger that, Red Leader. Force be with you.” The four A-Wings pulled off, dragging several TIEs with them on a merry chase through the ventilation shaft. 

“Looks like it’s just the four of us. Lead, are you sure that B-Wing is going to fit?” _No, Celchu, if fact I’m going to crash into that I-beam if you don’t shut up. _ Lando cocked his B-Wing up on its port stabilizer, narrowly threading the passage diagonally. 

“Looks like I fit just fine, Two. I’d quit worrying about my B-Wing, and worry about the damage you X-Wings are taking.” As if in response to his words, Red Four shredded into pieces, bouncing off the narrow walls as one laser beam too many pierced his shields. Remembering Luke’s trick, Lando called out, “Give it more speed, we need to loose those TIEs.” For a few moments, the Rebel starfighters shot ahead of the Imperials, loosing sight of them in the darkness of the shaft. 

“Lead, I can’t maintain these speeds! It’s too fast! AHHHH!” Red Three disappeared in a cloud of burning vapor as it impacted a low piece of structure. Just then, the narrow chasm opened to a bright, vaulting room. They had made it to the reactor core. 

_Sithspawn_. 

“Our torpedoes won’t even scratch a reactor that big!” Celchu exclaimed. 

_Sithspawn_._ I should have taken the _Falcon_. Han, Chewie, and I could have ironed out those dings we put in her at Coruscant. We could have had her working in time. I could be in my own ship, complete with concussion missiles. I should have taken the _Falcon_. _

Lando’s voice was hard as it transmitted. “Two, target the power coupling on the north tower, it should destabilize the reaction.” 

“Confirmed, Lead. Torpedoes away!” The bright pink glow of the torpedoes arched out and burst spectacularly against the coupling. As the power coupling detonated from the shock, the reactor began to emit jets of plasma, in the throws of destabilization. 

“Get out of here, Two,” Lando growled over the com. 

“Sir, what about you? What about the reactor?” 

“I’m taking care of it, Celchu. I’m already on my way out. See that you are, too.” 

Lando watched as Red Two banked and reentered the shaft at top speed_. Looks like my luck has finally run out._ _You owe me big time, Han._ He aligned the torpedo-laden midsection of his fighter with the core, pushing the throttle fully open. The reactor grew infront of him, blue and green jets of plasma dancing hypnotically before him, closing in with more and more speed. There was no turning back. 

_I’m on my way out. _

The B-Wing crashed into the core. 


	7. 4 ABY - Endor - Puzzle

4 ABY  
Above the Sanctuary Moon

  
Puzzle

  
  
General Madine idly ran his fingers through his beard, studying the wreckage that lay before him. His eyes weighed heavily, but he forced himself to stay awake, to keep working. Others celebrated the victory on the surface. They toasted the deaths of the second Death Star, the Dark Lord, and the tyrant Palpatine. They toasted Lando Calrissian, Arvel Crynyd, and Ibtisam for their sacrifices. They toasted the freedom that they were sure would follow. The freedom that Crix Madine knew was still far off.   
  
In front of him, debris lay across the large, empty hanger deck. It would appear scattered, save the soft blue grid being projected over it, glittering off shiny metal slivers. Techs milled about, carefully organizing scraps of metal in a pattern only they could discern.   
  
Madine silently approached a tech, who jumped when he realized the General was standing above him. “What have you found?” he queried.   
  
“Sir, I’m sorry I didn’t see you, sir,” the tech, a Sullustan, squeaked. “Sir, we, ah, we don’t have much I’m afraid.” He gestured to the shrapnel lying before him. “From the amount of debris, it appears the craft was approximately nine meters long. Composition indicates forging during the last years of the Republic.”  
  
Madine sighed. “Any information on its purpose? Its origin? Its mission?”  
  
“Well, sir, we’re guessing it was an old messenger droid. It must have come quite the distance if they sent this relic instead of using the holonet. Expensive. Must have been pretty important, whatever it was.”   
  
“There’s no indication of what the message contained or where it was from?”   
  
“No,” the tech shook his head regretfully, his jowls quivering.   
  
“Hey, I got something!” a white garbed tech shouted near by a larger piece of wreckage.   
  
The General strode towards the excited tech. “Report! What did you find?”  
  
“Just an image, sir. It’s all that remains of the memory chip.” A blue-tinged, wavering holo sprang to life above the tech’s console. An ovid ship floated against the backdrop of space; no planet to identify, no stars bright enough to map. Snuggled near the strange ship was a standard cylindrical escape pod. Imperial wreckage blanked the general area.   
  
“What do you make of it, sir?”  
  
Was it friend? An unknown ally that might help in the days to come? One that hated the Empire as much as the Rebels or one that was merely acting in self-defense?   
  
Was it foe? An enemy lying in wait? A secret Imperial weapon? Or a new more deadly threat that would call for the combined cooperation of the Imperials and Rebels to turn back?   
  
A glimpse of an unknown, bought by four starfighters that had accidentally tripped the self-destruct and two frigates too close to avoid the exploding fusion reactor.  
  
“Sir, Mon Mothma and Admiral Ackbar are awaiting your presence in Deck 4 conference room,” a young ensign called out to the General.   
  
Madine sighed and turned to leave. This puzzle would have to wait for another time.


	8. 6 ABY - Unknown - Request Denied

6 ABY

Secrete New Republic Starfighter Base, System Unknown

Request Denied

Sometimes I wonder if tugging on your hair makes you go bald. I do it enough that I should have large bald patches on either side of my head. I’m currently sitting at my desk, elbows on either side of my datapad, trying to tear my hair out. 

The source of my frustration isn’t the datapad itself, although with the way my day is going, the kriffin’ thing will probably decide to die. No, my problems stem from the short message sitting on the display and the officer that wrote it. 

Why can’t they understand? Starfighter Command has no a premier unit. Even with the death of Soontir Fel, my old instructor, the Empire has maintained the 181st as its most talented starfighter unit. I’ve seen pilots pale at the very mention of their name. Bring them into a battle, no matter how pitched, and new recruits will scatter at the sight of that red striping. Why shouldn’t the New Republic have a unit to strike fear into the Empire? But no one will listen. Or at least, no one will help. 

I’ve been given my own squadron. The only pilot to survive the second Death Star run needs his own squadron, after all. Can’t have a guy doing publicity air shows by himself. It’s much more exciting with a full squadron. For the audience, I mean, not the pilots. 

I thought that command would be a good thing. I’ve gone through the Academy. I know the tricks Fel used to shape his pilots into the best. I thought that I could do the same. But not all recruits are capable of being aces, and Fel had his pick. 

I’ve tried to beg, borrow, and steal the best pilots I can. I contacted an old Academy friend, Hobbie, trying to convince him to help me put together a crack unit. I got a wedding invitation in return and a note saying he was happy flying freighters and that we should go drinking together sometime. I tried Dack, my gunner from Hoth, only to learn he had died in a skirmish above Yag‘Dhul. I even tried that idiot from Hoth that kept putting tauntaun droppings in our room. An idiot, but a fine pilot. Apparently a good marksman as well. He’s teaching marksmanship at Starfighter Academy now. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the new recruits. Command isn’t helping either. Every time I find an experienced pilot willing to transfer, Command insists that their current assignment is too valuable to allow a transfer. 

So I command a squadron of rookies. Serving in Red Squadron is considered an honor and an advanced training session for the top graduates of the Academy. They do a few performances, maybe fly a bit of combat, and hopefully learn a couple of tricks. And then they move on. After all, Red Squadron is the fast track to command. A resume boost, if you will. 

Yesterday, I sent Command a letter requesting that a moratorium be placed on all transfers from Red Squadron so I could have time shape this group into the squadron that the New Republic needs. Request denied, of course. They took two of my pilots as well, replacing them with rookies for me to pamper and season. 

So I sit in my office, staring at the glowing display, wondering how soon the day the New Republic regrets its lack of starfighter superiority will arrive. Wondering if I, Commander Tycho Celchu, want to be around when it does. 


	9. 6 ABY - Corellia - Goodbye

6 ABY

Coronet City, Corellia

Goodbye

She folded one last tunic and placed it in her small flight bag. The bag held what was left of her clothes and treasures. The rest of her things had slowly been transferred from the apartment to the _Skate_. Her husband hadn’t even noticed. 

Her eye strayed towards the holo sitting on the nightstand. She picked it up, leaning slightly against the bed as she studied it. Hesitantly, she slipped it in the bag before sealing it. Shouldering the bag, she hit the switch for the glow panel as she moved from the bedroom into the hall. 

“Where are you going? Is something wrong?”

Mirax started at sound of Wedge’s voice. He stood in front of the door, datapad in one hand, a tube of rolled flimsy in the other. If nothing else, Mirax had taught him to dress over the four years of their marriage. He wore a pair of dark pressed slacks that hung loosely enough to be comfortable, but tailored to accent his legs. A cream sweater completed his sharp ensemble, but Mirax could already see blue smudges of drafter’s ink on his sleeves. She killed the fond smile that threatened to touch her lips.

“I’m leaving, Wedge.” Her tone was hard as she steeled herself for the fight she knew would follow.

The look of concern he wore deepened. “What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving you, Wedge. I can’t do this anymore.” Her eyes did not meet his; she could not bear to see the pain that must be there.

“What?” He stood, unmoving, in shock. 

“I can’t pretend anymore, Wedge. I’m taking the _Skate_. I’ll probably do a few runs and visit my father. I don’t know where I’ll end up, but it won’t be back here.” 

“But…Mirax, I love you.” He took a hesitant step towards her. “You can’t leave. We’ll make this work.” A hand extended towards her. “I’ll fix it. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” 

She took a step back, crossing her arms so that her treacherous hands would not reach for his. “You can’t fix everything.” 

“Give me an example.” His voice betrayed some of the pain he was feeling, but it had become hard, almost cutting. 

“I can’t be your perfect little wife. I can’t sit here and wait for you to come home every night.” She snorted. “Sometimes you don’t even come home. I would accuse you of having a mistress but I know you’re so devoted to that kriffin’ job that you wouldn’t even have time to find one.” Her voice softened. “You don’t even have time for me.” 

“So I’ll take some time off. We can go to that resort out on Chandrilla that you talked about wanting to see. I’ll talk to my boss about cutting my hours after this project is done.”

Mirax threw up her hands in frustration. “And then there’ll be another project, and then another. If we had kids, I doubt they’d even know who their father is! If you actually paid attention to anything other than your work, you’d know the Rebels took Chandrilla over a year ago.” 

“I just want to provide you with the kind of lifestyle you deserve. A little longer and I can open my own architectural firm, and then you can help me run it. We can start family.” She made the mistake of looking into his eyes, of seeing the sincerity there. But it only angered her. 

“You’re right, Antilles. I need a business of my own to run. I _had_ a business. My exotics trade would have given us enough money to start your firm, build your dream home out in the county, and support a whole pack of kids. But you decided that Great Wedge Antilles couldn’t be associated with any _questionable_ activity. So I gave it up, _for you_.” 

“I told you how much I appreciated it, how much easier it was to get clients, how Horn Junior quit hanging around the office, how much I worried that he was going to catch you. It was good for us. You told me you didn’t mind.” 

“I lied.” 

His head was down as he studied the floor silently. After a while, his head lifted and he spoke. “I guess this is goodbye.” 

“Goodbye, Wedge.” She strode past him out the door, not looking back. 


	10. 6.5 ABY - Corellia - Trisected

6.5-7 ABY

Coronet City, Corellia

Trisected

Loor surveyed the office before him. The orange hue of the setting sun tinged the darkened office. Twelve desks filled the dim, spartan room that housed the Correllian Security Force Organized Crime Division. A single light shone through the darkness; a display illuminating the tired features of Agent Iella Wessiri. 

_Impressive. She certainly shows dedication. _The other investigators had left for the night, but Wessiri was still working hard to convict the young Rebel that been brought in last week for involvement in terrorist activities. 

_Horn’s betrayal must have hit her harder than I assumed. Her dedication eliminates suspicion that she may be harboring any sympathies._ Corran Horn, heir to two generation of highly respected Corsec officers, had viscously murdered a group of smugglers. While Kirtan Loor had no problems dealing with issues is such a deceive matter, Department Head Gil Bastra had objected to the slaughter. Horn’s temper must have gotten the better of him as two days later, Bastra’s corpse was still cooling when he stole a Corsec motor pool X-Wing and fled to Rebel space. 

_And we still have no idea how much information he has betrayed to the Rebels. Or how far his Rebel cell extended. _He studied the woman staring intensely at the display. Her brown eyes quickly skimmed text, hunting for that one essential clue. _No, her loyalties lie with the Empire. There is no doubt_. 

Iella Wessiri was an enigma to Loor. She was an intelligent, sophisticated woman. Her talents were clearly wasted in a profession of pursuing minor thieves and small rebel cells where a stray shot may delete any of her potential. She seemed to show no interest in climbing Coronet’s social ladder, yet she had married a well-connected man twice her age. A rich man, the only living heir to Wessiri Investment Empire. _No, she knows what she is doing. She is playing a waiting game. To show interest now would only alert her detractors; in showing indifference, she evades them_. 

Highlights of text green shimmered off her dark blonde hair. Small wrinkles creased her forehead and near her eyes, her beauty showing strain at the long hours of work. _What she needs is a man of influence, a man connected with the Courscanti elite. One who could offer her a stepping-stone off this backwater world to larger things. An up-and-coming officer of the Empire. She would make an excellent wife for a clever new Moff. _

He slipped back into the shadowy corridor without alerting her to his presence. As he entered the turbolift, he smiled slightly. _Yes, I see much potential in Iella Wessiri. Perhaps arrangements can be made. _

***

Wynnsa inhaled a deep breath of the cool air that whipped in the speeder through the cracked window. She smiled contently as she watched the buildings blur by. 

“Glad to be home?” A male voice questioned. She turned to look at the handsome face of Garik Loran, who was seated next to her. 

“This really isn’t home,” she said hesitantly, “but it is. The people, the general atmosphere. It’s Corellia. Even if I never saw Coronet until I was seventeen.” 

He smiled. “Sometimes, a even a bit of home is a pleasant reminder. You should visit your home while we’re here. I’m sure Hinri can allot some time in his schedule to allow the beautiful, talented Wynssa Stareflare to return to visit her humble roots on the exciting world of Corellia.” The last was pitched to sound like the annoying announcer on Coruscant’s weekly slug-news program, _Star Struck_. The imitation brought a hint of a smile to her otherwise wistful features. 

“No, I can’t go home.” She studied the buildings outside of her window. New ones had been added since she had last seen a holo. They arched and glided up to touch the bright sky, defying the shadowy streets that lay below. _Which ones are your dreams, Veggies?_ “Maybe I can visit my little brother.” 

Garik shot her an outraged look. “Your parents dared to have a sequel to such a spectacular performance? Do they not know the cardinal rule? That every sequel that dareth be created after the first shall be a plague upon the boxoffice?” 

She laughed, white teeth glistening. “Which is probably why he never went into acting. I heard a rumor that he’s an architect now. A highly acclaimed one. Maybe I can make an appointment about that new apartment I’ve been thinking about and give him a bit of a surprise.” Her voice softened. “I was glad to hear he had escaped my parents.”

“Tell me about them,” Garik suggested gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“Oh no, they never hurt us or anything if that’s what you’re thinking. They were dreamers. They wanted to have their own business, a chain of fuelling stations, and they worked hard for it. Mom and Dad encouraged us to work for our dreams as well. They just didn’t understand that we had different dreams.” 

“You don’t want to see them, to show them that you’ve achieved your dreams? They’d be so proud of you.”

Wynssa shook her head, her long hair swirling about her. “No, let them think I failed. Let them be happy with their stations. I don’t want see the disappointment in their eyes that their daughter couldn’t even find a _respectable career_.” She gazed out the front window at the approaching crowd. “I’ll visit my brother, if only to get his opinion on an apartment design. Then I’ll improvise from there.” 

The speeder began to slow in front of the immense crowd amidst the theatre district of Coronet. “Time to put on your game face.” He leaned closer to her, putting his arm around her, bringing his head in low above her. 

“I hate doing this. I always feel like I’m betraying ‘Tir.” She placed a hand high on his thigh as the valet approached the door. 

“I’m sure Fel’s at one with the Force, laughing his head off at he idiocy of some of these people and at their responses to the charade.” As the door opened, a roar issued from the crowd, pleased to see they had irrupted something. Slug news photographers flocked to take holos of the famous couple. “Ten credits say I get top headline billing,” he murmured in her ear.

“Twenty,” she whispered back.

“Done.” He helped her out of the speeder. 

As Wynnsa Starflare entered the crowded square, the whine of a Blastech high-powered rifle pierced the air. 

***

People are interesting creatures, human and non-human alike. Each has their own view of the world, their own idiosyncrasies. For instance, take the young human female standing near the edge of the roped of aisle. A minute ago, she was happily kissing her boyfriend, an engagement ring clearly displayed on her finger. Currently, she is leaning over the ropes, trying to catch a glimpse of holo-heartthrob Garik Loran. The boyfriend and the ring are missing. Clearly, she leads two separate lives; one fantasizing about the life should wishes to have, and a more practical one that continues a simple, general pattern. It is unknown which is her true self, or if it some compilation of the two. All that is known is her outer behavior indicating joy and bliss at this moment. 

My wife is another interesting creature. She is standing guard currently. One of the elite Corsec Officers assigned to protect the visiting stars. An honor and a demonstration of confidence in her abilities. Yet, when she gets home I know she will be tired and will have not found any pleasure in her brief brush of fame. Instead, she will assist me in making diner, spend a quiet night reading, scold me for taking Reemae to this event, and then huddle close to me as she falls asleep, safe in her refuge. She is a great seeker of stability. 

Reemae, on the other hand, is a seeker of chaos. She thrives in pushing, throbbing crowds such as this. She despises authority, and it is this that got her into trouble all those months ago. Reemae choose publicly denounce the Diktat, labeling her in the eyes of Corsec as a suspected Rebel and leading to her arrest for the assignation of a senior official. She despises order, and it is this that gained her freedom. As I pointed out to Iella, she does not have the patience or ability execute such a complex assignation plan. Eventually, Iella found a single witness whose testimony exonerated Reemae and put the murderer in jail. 

Reemae had been ever so excited to be free and I had offered to bring her here as a minor celebratory gift. Now I can people-watch while she absorbs the excitement of the crowd and revels in the feeling of being amongst people again. I am watching young Selonian brave the crowd, defying her desire for privacy for a chance to glimpse the holostars. 

I do not spend much time around discharging weapons, although I have observed Iella once at the range, but anyone who has been to one of Loran’s or Stareflare’s holos can probably pick out the sound of a blaster riffle. Including me. Including the rest of the crowd. 

There is shoving, and pushing and waves of panicking people as they scatter into directions unknown, assuming that anywhere is safer then the square. I stand rigid, buffeted by the torrent of people. I can only trust Iella was out of the line of fire and will pursue any suspects with caution. I must trust. 

Reemae is suddenly in front of me, her face calm amidst the chaos. She is in her element. Cold, hard durasteal is thrust into my hands. I grasp it instinctively. Warms lips touch my cheek. “Thanks for all your help.” And with a wink, she disappears into the chaos. I look down in my hands to see a Blastech high-powered rifle. The same variety that had been used months ago. The same rifle that had never been found. 

“Freeze! This is Corsec! Drop the weapon! Place your hands on your head, you’re under arrest for the murder of Wynssa Starflare and the attempted murder of Garik Loran.” I know that cool, hard voice. This is her business voice. I look up to see tears streaming down her face, her blaster pointed unwavering at my heart, and I know I have failed her. I, Diric Wessiri, have shattered her stability. 


	11. 7.5 ABY - Unknown - Lighting the Darkness

7.5 ABY

Secrete New Republic Starfigter Base, System Unknown

Lighting the Darkness

Gavin steeled himself, tensing his muscles as he assumed proper military posture, and then gradually forcing himself to relax. He raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door. “Enter,” a voice inside called. Gavin hit the door release, sending the door whooshing open in typical Imperial suddenness.

“Lieutenant Gavin Darklighter reporting as ordered, sir.” Gavin’s hand wavered slightly as he held it to his brow, betraying his nervousness. This was the first time he had been singled out by his squadron commander. He restrained himself from meeting his commanding officer’s icy blue eyes, instead focusing on a spot above the Commander’s head. 

“At ease, Lieutenant,” the Commander said with resignation evident in his voice. “Do you know why you are here?” 

“No, sir. I believe my performance has been adequate, and apart from the incident with the bantha, I have conducted myself with respect for the rules and the squadron.” Although he had assumed a relaxed posture, his eyes maintained his study of the wall. His hands, now clasped behind his back, still jittered. 

“You _are_ here because of your performance and conduct. I am required to ask you input on which squadron you’d like to command before you transfer out.” Gavin’s jaw dropped. The Commander, ignoring him, flicked on a display and blue text and scrolled down across the air. “It appears High Flight, Orange, and Lightflare all have need of new squadron leaders.” A rare smile flitted across the Commander’s face. “I suppose that Lightflare would be fitting. You’d have to adjust to A-Wings, though.” 

“Ah, sir, I don’t want to fly A-Wings,” Gavin gasped out.

“Yes, of course. You’ll be given command of High Flight Squadron then,” he peered over the display at the shocked expression Gavin knew he wore. “That’s assuming you don’t like B-Wings either.”

“No, sir…I mean I don’t want to fly B-Wings either. Sir, I don’t understand…”

Commander Celchu leaned back in his ejection-seat-turned-office-chair and ran his hands through his ashen hair. “Lieutenant, I am aware that candidates from Red Squadron are usually accorded more choices of command, especially pilots of your caliber, but these are the only command positions available at the moment.”

“Sir, I don’t _want_ to command a squadron,” Gavin pleaded. “I’m just barely out of the Academy and I don’t even turn eighteen until months from now. Even Luke was eighteen when he commanded a squadron.” 

Celchu’s eyes closed and his features took on the wear of far too many years. “I am aware of your inexperience, Lieutenant, as is Command. Nevertheless, you have proved yourself capable in the past few months. Others have moved on with less ability and with less experience. I could recommend you for Cracken’s Group, should you desire further experience, but you’ve already expressed disinterest in A-Wings.” 

“Commander, I don’t _want_ to transfer. I’m happy here. If I’ve done something wrong, I’ll work hard to fix it. Please give me another chance. I’ll train harder, and no more banthas, I promise.” His military posture dropped, shoulders drooping at the thought of leaving Red Squadron. 

The Commander studied him. “Red Squadron is an elite squadron.” Gavin’s mouth opened but Celchu waved him to silence. “It is a training ground for elite pilots. The top pilots from the Academy come here to gain experience before moving on to command their own squadrons. Yourself included, Lieutenant Darklighter. You’re on the path for a bright career.” A trace of bitterness found its way into Celchu’s voice. 

“Sir, permission to speak freely?” Celchu nodded. “Sir, I grew up wanting to be a pilot, to be a hero like my cousin Biggs. I had to work hard to get into the Academy. Even harder to convince some of my instructors that a pilot who had just reached his majority was just as good as a pilot who was a few years older.”

“And that hard work is why you’re getting your own command,” Celchu interrupted.

“Yes, sir. But I don’t want my own command. I worked hard because my cousin had told me a couple of stories of his days at the Academy. He told me of an instructor named Fel who worked him hard day after day so he could achieve his potential. He told me of fellow pilots with names like Kilvian and Celchu who helped him become one of the Empire’s best, and later defect to the Rebellion. Sir, I want to become the best. I want to train under the best. I want to stay in Red Squadron.” 

“Not that I’m not flattered, but why?” He had turned the display off and was studying his young charge intently. 

“Because this is where I can do the most to help the New Republic. We are the best and we can beat the Empire.” 

“You realize this will probably damage your career. Every pilot in Red Squadron’s recent history has transferred to his own command within a year.”

“Yessir. One of my instructors once told me, ‘If you haven’t put a few dings in your career, you probably don’t deserve to have one.’”

An eyebrow rose. “An Academy instructor told you that?” he asked in disbelief. 

“The small arms and gunnery instructor. Well, he used to be.” Gavin studied his feet. “I heard he got tossed back in a cockpit last month for redecorating a superior officer’s quarters.” 

“Let me guess, in bright orange and pink paint trimmed with tauntaun droppings?” 

Gavin looked up in puzzlement. “No, sir. With paintings of little furry creatures called Ewoks using a picture of the Colonel as target practice. Apparently, he didn’t like the advice the Colonel gave him about how he should train recruits.”

“So Janson finally got fed up playing instructor,” Celchu mused, one hand rubbing at his chin. A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his icy features for the first time since Gavin had met him. “Maybe, just maybe, this could work.” He met Gavin’s gaze. “Gavin, it’s a pleasure to have you in Red Squadron. If you know any of your fellows who think the same as you, let me know. I think it’s finally time we showed the Empire what we can do. Dismissed.” 

Gavin left a smiling Commander behind as he strode out of the office to join the rest of Red Squadron. 


	12. 7.5 ABY - Thyferra - Bacta Blitz

7.5 ABY

Planet of Thyferra

Bacta Blitz

“Are you sure about this?” Derek whined mournfully as he brought the tanker’s generator online. 

_It’s a good thing that pout is endearing, or I’d have to slap it off his face. _Maranne scowled at her husband. “Do you have a better idea?” 

“Erm, anything that doesn’t involve getting shot?” Humans and Vratix alike scrambled away from the tanker as the engines roared to life. Flows of white appeared from the green foliage, sending light splashing against the hull. _Shields, shields, where did they put the shields? Why can’t they just ship bacta in standard freighters?_

“Well, put it this way,” she said as she scrambled to bring the shields online, “At least if we get hurt, we’ll have plenty of bacta.” The deadly energy beams abruptly stopped a meter from the hull, harmlessly discharging against a strong set of shields. “Shields up and coordinates entered. Your turn, Captain.” She smiled sweetly. 

He turned a dial on the left control board and spoke softly into the com. “Derra Three, this is Derra One, the distraction is a go. May the Force be with you.” A double click over the com signaled that the free-lance freighters their procurement team had pressed into service were loaded with bacta and ready to run. _Eat this, Dlarit_.

Derek nudged the lumbering tanker slowly from the ground. Groans echoed down the corridor as the load of bacta settled in its containment units. The ground disappeared into white haze as the tanker rose through the thick Thyferran atmosphere. As white disappeared to black and the green world shrunk beneath them, the screams of ion engines invaded the cockpit. 

“Sithspit, looks like I finally get find out what floating in bacta is like,” Derek moaned. “That’s if we survive this at all.” A squadron of TIEs roared past the freighter.

“Rebel scum, surrender or be destroyed. You have one minute to decide,” a female voice came from the com. 

Maranne traced the numbers on her display. “One minute is not enough. We’ll need at least five until we can clear for hyper. The convoy will need at least two.” 

Derek shrugged and keyed the com. “Sorry, ma’am, but we’re going to need a few more few more minutes to decide. You know how wives are.” 

Maranne slapped him upside the head as green laser barrage rocked the tanker. “Do something.” 

“Ouch,” he muttered and glared at her. “I tried and you hit me.”

“You’re a pilot, so pilot.” Another wave buffeted against the shields. _Why doesn’t this thing have guns? Whose has ever heard of an unarmed bacta tanker?_

“This is tanker, not a freighter, and certainly not a TIE fighter. No guns, no missiles, no maneuverability. Just pure dead mass. What am I suppose to do, crush them to death?” 

“Precisely.” She grinned evilly at him_. I married a bright man. Pity he doesn’t realize it._

“We’re doomed,” he moaned. Despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm of the suggestion, he nevertheless increased the throttle. “Shunt as much power into the shields as possible, I have the feeling we’re going to need it.” 

“Aye, aye, Captain.” The tanker surged forward on their exit vector. In comparison, the TIEs flashed past, lacing the tanker with green energy bolts

“Come on, come on,” Derek muttered, urging the tanker forward. 

“Resistance is foolish, Rebel. Surrender.” 

Maranne grabbed the com. “Cleary you could use a little more resistance in your life, as there is obviously no light on in your head. How are you going to stop us without converting this precious bacta into free-floating hydrogen?” 

The TIE ceased firing on the aft and port sides of the tanker where the bacta was kept. A single pair of TIEs remained, trying to damage the tanker’s heavily shielded engines. The others formed into a group directly in the freighter’s path. “You idealistic Rebels, you are ready to die to bring bacta to others, but are you ready to kill for it?” From their new position, the TIEs opened fire on the tanker’s cockpit. The shields began to flicker.

“Who is she kidding? ‘Are you ready to kill?’ What spice-born Imperial propaganda Stareflare holos has she been watching?” Maranne spluttered. 

“Well, she has a point. Members of the New Republic Military have shown a tendency to minimize causalities as much as possible. And it’s against the Alderaanian Treaty to fire on unarmed civilians,” Derek argued lightly. His brow creased as he twitched his stick, moving the tanker slightly off vector. 

“Please tell me you’re not becoming a pacifist in the middle of a battle.” 

“No better time for it.” _He goes philosophical on me at the weirdest times. Some days, I wish I never encouraged him to talk. _“But actually, I’m going for the carom shot. Hold on.”

The freighter lurched as in rammed into a TIE on the outer edge of the group. Its left solar panel sheared off as it tumbled into the TIE that had stayed slightly off to the side of the group, out of danger. A bright fireball erupted. 

Maranne’s cheer of joy cutoff as the shields collapsed. The remaining TIEs sent a barrage of laser blasts at the now unprotected freighter. The cockpit filled with smoke as shrill alarms sounded. 

“We’re not going to make it, we’re not going to make it,” her husband muttered under his breath, driving the damaged freighter forward. His hands griped the yoke with white knuckles, trying to keep the freighter on course by brute strength. 

She glanced at the counter. _Almost there, almost there…_As the counter hit zero she reached over and pulled the lever, throwing the tanker into brightly lit hyperspace. “We made it. I told you my plan would work.” 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” _On the other hand, sometimes his talking wasn’t all that bad. _

“I don’t think so, Captain Kilvian. Perhaps you can enlighten me as we deliver this bacta to those poor pilots that keep getting too friendly with the ground.” She pulled gently at the front of his Imperial disguise. 

“I’d certainly hate to be one of those fellows,” he said just before his soft lips met her own. 


	13. 8 ABY - Taanab - A Knight in Scruffy Armor

8 ABY

Planet of Taanab

A Knight in Scruffy Armor

A stranger lay on the couch of Leia’s temporary quarters, sleeping deeply. 

The stranger wore the features of the man she loved. A lock of brown hair curled across his forehead. His lips tugged at the corner, a reminder of the Corellian grin he had once worn. The familiar scar slashed across his chin, its presence still unexplained. 

The new scars worried her. Scars that no story not because of his teasing, but because she wasn’t there. She didn’t need to know the story of the jagged line across his temple and the red horrible slice across his hand to know that these were her scars. New lines traced their gentle paths across his brow, wrinkles of worry and fatigue. These were hers, too. 

She had seen men broken men before. Fellow Rebels tortured for information, fellow senators with reputations destroyed on a whim, men brought to the edge of the chasm by loss of loved ones or loved things. And now she saw a man broken by tiredness, a man who was sick of clawing forward, only to slide back ever further from his goal. 

Like a victorious knight of old, he had left with his shinning saber to slay the hydra, but upon seeing each head he lobbed off replaced with two more, he turned his back and fled. She had been the princess who had given him a token of affection and then cast him towards the beast, awaiting his triumphant return. His victory was to be so glorious that none could deny his deed. It had been her blindness, her desire for a knight instead of a rogue that had done this to him. 

Han had come to her tonight, his tattered fleet arriving in orbit above Taanab just a few hours ago. She had been immersed with the details of the continuing talks with Hapes when he had arrived dressed in his dark vest and tight pants, blood stripes oddly absent. Without a word, he had handed her his General’s insignia before turning from her. It was only when she kissed him that he looked in her eyes. And what she saw in them was despair. 

They had talked, after she pulled him into her room, threatening to have a guard beat him senseless if he didn’t explain. He spoke of Zsinj, of the hydra left un-slain, of the fleet whose commander no longer felt worthy of them, of the Princess whose suitor was not worthy. 

She had slapped him at that point, and then kissed him roughly. They argued, glared, and kissed until Han had drifted off, finally over come by a wave of exhaustion. Now she looked at him, studying the man who had given everything to become the man he had thought she needed. That she had thought she needed. 

She placed a kiss on his cheek as he roused slightly. “We’re both a couple of nerf herders. I don’t need a knight, I need my scruffy pirate.” 

Moving carefully, she snuggled up beside him on the couch. As he turned to accommodate her, she thought she heard him mummer, “Who ya’ calling scruffy?” 


	14. 8 ABY - Corellia - Eavesdropping

8 ABY

Coronet City, Corellia

Eavesdropping

_Mascara running, check. Eyes red, check. Blouse buttoned wrong, check_. _Perfect_. Moranda adjusted her skirt one more time, making sure it was slightly off kilter. She had disguised herself as a middle-age housewife out for a night on the town that had met a rather rough end. _Hopefully this new Corsec director doesn’t have a heart of ice. I’m playing the pity factor pretty heavily_. 

Stuffing her mirror in a pocket sewn to the lining of her blouse, she stepped from the alley into the crisp morning breeze. Behind her lay shining edifice of Corsec Headquarters. _If Horn was still around, I wouldn’t have come this close for a million credits, let alone the measly sum old Garm is paying me for this. _In front of her was a small park overlooking the construction of the new Vorru Municipality Central Building. 

Everyday, her target came here to eat a sweet pastry and drink a cup for twenty minutes. It would be the easiest spot to complete her mission. The park was relatively quiet at this time in the morning. The sun’s rays were just clearing the horizon. A pair of joggers occasionally ran by, with a few elderly couples feeding breadcrumbs to the kyras. The park’s only other occupants were a few burly constructions workers. 

Her quarry sat on a bench facing the construction. A dark blonde knot was artfully pinned to her head with decorative sticks. She wore the standard Corsec uniform, deterring from the tradition of the director wearing a suit to work. Stumbling slightly, Moranda made her way towards the woman. Just as she cleared a clump of bushes, she halted, realizing her quarry was no longer alone. Quickly, she stepped out of her heals and quietly padded to the middle of the brush. 

The woman’s companion was a well-dressed man with long dark hair. His elbows rested on his knees, casually twirling a hard hat with _Gus Treta Construction_ printed on it. Quickly, Moranda unfastened one of her dangling earrings. Using her nail, she pried the cover off a small jack socket. Fishing a wire connected to her broach from inside her blouse, she plugged it in and returned the earning to her ear. 

“You come here often. I see you when I do my inspections,” the construction worker said. 

“I come here to think,” her target replied. 

“Most people prefer a quiet place. I’m sure our construction droids aren’t helping.”

“No, I like the ambient noise. Some places are too quiet…like home.” 

“I know what you mean.” He sat back, staring ahead, while she sipped her caf. 

“I didn’t take you for a bachelor, you’re too well dressed.”

“Separated, actually. You?” 

“The same.” They sat silently for a while. Moranda found a rock to perch on unseen. _If these two keep flirting, I might be able to get my information. But if they keep sealing up tighter than a hull, I might have to resort back to my plan_. She shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable position. 

“So, I take it you work for Corsec?”

“No, I just stole the uniform.” She smiled slightly. 

The man snorted. “Don’t joke about that, my in-laws would love to have one.” _People after my own heart. I wonder if I know them. And whether they can get me one as well._

“Should you be telling me about this?”

“You probably already have a file an inch thick on each of them. It would just be a footnote.” He laughed. 

“I didn’t take you for the criminal type, either.” 

“Part of the reason we’re separated. I have a life. She has a life. They just don’t mix well.”

“My husband’s on Kessel,” she said quietly. _Ah, yes. That would be Diric Wessiri_. 

“I didn’t take you for the criminal type, either,” he repeated back, gesturing to her uniform. 

“It’s my fault. I arrested him for murder. I knew he was innocent, but I had to do my job. I thought the evidence would free him, but everything I found further convicted him. I failed him,” she said quietly. 

“It was my fault, too. I couldn’t deal with her having a life. I didn’t take time out of my life to appreciate her. And now she’s gone.” 

Silence encompassed them again. Moranda twitched and fidgeted. _They’d better not start making out._

“Do you still love her?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah…Do you still love him?” he questioned hesitantly. 

“Yes.” Both stared out over the partially finished building, watching as Corell slowly rise higher in the red sky. 

“What do we do now?” 

“Follow our hearts, I’d say.”

“The heart is the only designer without a plan.”

“We’re just going to have to trust in it and in the Force.”

As they sat in companionable silence, Moranda made her escape, rustling the bushes no more than the wind. She had what she came for. _The new Director will continue Rostek Horn’s legacy, instead of following that sithspawn Loor’s path. She’ll follow her heart and if Garm can convince her that his cause is hers, he’ll have a firm ally. _

_Now, where was that tavern I saw advertising Gralish liqueur?_


	15. 9 ABY - Talasea - Jedi and the Jokester

9 ABY

Planet of Talasea

Jedi and the Jokester

“Explain to me why we’re here again, Master,” I said to Master Skywalker. He had brought me to a small, grey hanger buried in the grey fog on a forgotten world. We had been here for a few weeks already, investigating ruins of what had been a Jedi’s hiding place. It had been quite a hike from our little camp near the ruins to this Sith forsaken place. At least our camp had a view. And less fog. 

“Patience, Corran,” Luke’s voice held none of the frustration I was used to hearing when he said that. Instead, it almost sounded like humor. A rare sound indeed from the melancholy master. “We’re here to enlist some help.” . 

I examined the hanger. The grey walls were the kind that could be hastily constructed by advanced teams. We had used smaller versions on some long term stakeouts on Drall back when I was with Corsec. Large, charred timbers reinforced the structure in a few spots, clearly borrowed from the wreckage of whatever settlement had once tried to survive here. A few personal wandered around, unrolling cables, unloading a lone shuttle, and tinkering with the fighters. The fighters themselves looked in good repair, but they had obviously been in a bit of scrap before arriving. New red paint already had black charred streaks running across it. On one X-Wing near the back, techs worked to free the wreckage of an R5 unit from its socket. I was glad Whistler wasn’t here to see that. 

“No disrespect intended, Master, but these pilots look like they have enough trouble keeping their paint on their hulls. How are they going to help us restore the Jedi?” 

“You are drawing conclusions that aren’t sound, Corran,” Luke told me in that calm Jedi Master voice of his. “I never said I was enlisting assistance in our Jedi search.” 

Suddenly, I felt something very hard and a bit heavy collide with my skull. In my pain, I thought that this might me another one of Master Skywalker’s training tricks. Then I realized I had heard a metallic clank when whatever it was fell to the floor. I looked down, and sure enough, a greasy hydrospanner lay at my feat. 

“And these pilots are can take care of themselves along with a good portion of the rest of the galaxy.” Luke’s face held a rare grin. 

I opened my mouth to scold him for taking pleasure in my pain, when a merry voice called out. “You’ve got that right! You’d better teach that rookie of yours to have a little more respect for his betters.” 

Looking up, I saw a grinning, baby-faced man looking down at me from his perch on top of an X-Wing. His hands and light blue day uniform were covered in lubricant. “I’m doing the best I can, Wes. Some lessons just take time to sink in,” Luke told the man as he swung down from the X-Wing. 

“Well, if you let it sink in naturally, Coruscant’s sun will have gone nova and they’ll be no point in retaking the planet.” I tried to smother my irritation at the comment as he and Luke exchanged a backslapping hug. I knew Luke had once flown starfighters for the Rebellion, but he didn’t talk much about it. I interrogated him on the subject previously when he had told me I would have the chance to use my ‘borrowed’ Corsec X-Wing in my Jedi training. This must be a friend from his Rebellion days. 

The dark haired man glanced beyond us into the foggy depths outside the hanger. “I didn’t hear your ship come in.” He turned to me. “This crazy Jedi driver crash again and make you walk here? I don’t know why the New Republic keeps giving him ships. He isn’t fit to fly a grav hauler.” 

I held my breathe for a second and let it out slowly, letting the anger flow out with it. Some of the Jedi training must be sinking in after all. My father would have been proud. “Sir, I don’t know you’re your prior experiences with Master Skywalker’s flying abilities are, but I know him to be the best pilot I’ve ever seen. Any damage done to equipment was done in defense of the New Republic.” 

The man’s grin grew. He gazed down at me and then walked slowly around me, reminding me of a drill instructor I had at the Corsec Academy. Despite being a bit shorter than him, I drew myself to my full height, squared my shoulders, and did my best to look him in the eye. “So, Luke, where did you pick up the programmable Ewok? I’ve been looking for a stuff animal for Gavin, and this would be perfect!” 

I had seen some of the pictures of Ewoks circulated by the Empire after the Emperor’s demise at Endor. I was not amused. I hated when people made fun of my height. “Why don’t you hand me a rock and I’ll show you how much of an Ewok I can be,” I growled. 

“We could get it a little bonnet and everything!” the man exclaimed, apparently oblivious to my anger. I cocked back my fist and threw a punch at that ever present grin of his, only to have it caught mid air by Master Skywalker. 

“Peace, Corran. Anger has no place among friends.” He released my hand. “You have passed one of the first tests to becoming a Jedi.”

My anger fled and was replaced with confusion. “Test? Master, I don’t understand.” 

“I wanted to see how well you could control your temper. You lasted five minutes. Much longer then the average person lasts around Wes.” 

The merry faced man stuck out his hand, grin still present. “Lieutenant Wes Janson, Red Squadron, True Gunner, Ace Pilot, and Great Annoyer of Jedi. Pleased to meet you.” 

I blinked before taking his hand. “Corran Horn, Jedi Apprentice.” 

Luke laughed again before clapping a hand on Janson’s shoulder. “Best escort us to Tycho. We can annoy him for a bit and then the two of you can help him put a dent in that ale of his.” 

They walked into the mists, headed for another one of the compound’s buildings. Janson’s voice carried in the dense air. “So, Luke, you and the Rookie going to stick around? We could use your help swatting some Imps off the Core Worlds.” 

“No thanks, I’ve got enough on my hands without upsetting an insane Imperial madwomen. But you might be able to convince me to help Tycho lay out the battle plans.” 

“Just what I need, a crazy Jedi driver giving directions. Hey, Gavin, look at what the nerf dragged in!” 

Another voice joined in as I studied my now grease stained hand. Idly, I tried to us the Force to pick up the hydrospanner. As usual, the effort was wasted. I had a long way to go to become a Jedi. If Luke’s friends were any indicator, it was going to be an interesting trip. 


	16. 9 ABY - Unknown - Failing

9 ABY

Peregrine Base, Location Unknown

Failing

Limitless pinpricks of light shown against a velvet black sky. They burned steady, their light unaffected by the miniscule atmosphere of the small moon. An aging man stood imposingly, back turned to cold, unchanging starscape outside his view port. 

Projected in front of his was a starscape of a different kind. Stars in shades of red, blue, gold, green, and white formed odd constellations like spokes of a wheel centered on a single red star. Gazing at the large spots of red entwined with blue, the broad man sighed, his mustache rippling slightly. It had been twenty eight years since the Emperor had come to power. Twenty eight years of fighting the Empire. Twenty eight years of failure. 

While the dam of blue held back the bloody red of the Empire, they had yet to staunch the flow. Now there was a new encroachment to deal with, a verdant green swath sweeping across the Outer Rim towards the New Republic’s shipyards at Sluis Van. Reports of impossibly small ships decimating planetary defenses, backed by the power of a single Imperial Star Destroyer, had reached Bel Iblis’s isolated outpost. The starfighters carried Imperial markings but were of a design never before seen. They were too small for a humanoid pilot, but moved with the grace and intelligence that no droid could mimic. 

The failure of the New Republic’s scientists to keep up with these technological advances was not General Bel Iblis’s biggest concern. The failure to understand the brilliant tactics of this new enemy was slightly more troublesome. But it was the failure that had not occurred that worried him the most. It was the failure of the New Republic to fail. 

Over the years since his split with Mon Mothma and the Alliance, he had quietly built his own levee to hold back the empire. Brilliant gold highlighted worlds such as Commenor, Kothlis, Bothawui, and Elom, worlds that quietly pledged their support to the rogue General. His own home world of Corellia glowed brightly, a recent acquisition. Bel Iblis had been quite pleased when the newly elected Diktat Rostek Horn had begun funneling him ships and troops from under the Imperials’ noses, some of them still with Corsec markings. 

So far, except for the occasional raid, those ships sat as silent sentinels, ready to spring to action against the Empire, waiting for the failure of the Mon Mothma’s New Republic. And no word came. The New Republic continued to unite against the Empire, constantly struggling to wrench Isard’s claws from Coruscant. His forces sat idly by, still waiting, still shoring against the storm he had been sure was approaching. 

He had failed. Failed his troops. Failed the Rebellion. 

His tired eyes gazed at the data cards spread before him, and then lifted to study the expanding set of green stars. Perhaps the New Republic had need of an old General and his fleet. Perhaps together they could succeed. 


	17. 10 ABY - Commenor - Final Bow

10 ABY

Folor Base, Commenor System

Final Bow

The human body doesn’t sense speed. Speed is an illusion produced by the eyes as objects fly by at impossible rates. Speeding towards the surface of Mon Calamari, I can close my eyes and I feel no differently than I did years ago standing onstage. The fluttering heart, the dryness of mouth, the weakness of knees, the churning stomach, the firm resolve. I didn’t do theatre long before I was snapped up by a holodrama director, but I’ll never forget the sensation of working with a live audience. Everyone watching you; it wasn’t that different from piloting. 

The human body does, however, sense changes in acceleration, and as I pull up on the stick to level off, my stomach flutters. The hundred little palenflys in my gut threaten to multiply into thousands as I gaze at the lumbering World Devastator before me. Still hundreds of klicks away, I can clearly make out its massive maws. If an alien Grand Admiral with impossibly smart droid fighters isn’t enough, we now have hungry machines after us. 

“Heads up, people. Those TeeDees will be upon us fast. Stick to the objective and call if you need help. Especially you, Loran.” I’m always surprised how much scorn General Crispin is able to put in voice. He’d make a good villain in one of my old cute-little-boy-saves-the-galaxy holos. Kids would hate him, I know I do. 

According to him, I shouldn’t even be on this mission. I’m on my third starfighter. It’s amazing what you can buy on the home shopping network if you have enough money. The New Republic doesn’t seem to mind that I foot my own crash bills, but General Crispin seems to think that makes me a vigilante. He’s probably right. I want my piece of the Empire, and I’m willing to pay to get the chance. 

I used to work for the Empire. I recruited thousands of young men to join me in their service. I was busy recruiting more when the Force decided I needed a wake up call. A sniper took out Wynssa and then a good portion of nose and cheek. I thought it was a sign that maybe my scripts weren’t all trash after all, that there really were blood thirsty, child killing rebels out there. And then I learned this “Rebel” had been paid to shoot us, not because of the work we were doing for the Empire, but because an Imperial paid her to implicate some poor guy in the murders so the Imp could get his wife. The corrupt Empire took a piece of my face, my heart, and my life and I plan on returning the favor. Taking out one of these Devastators will have to suffice, because after this Crispin is throwing me out. He would have done it sooner, but Command insisted they needed another warm body in the cockpit. Here’s to being a human shield. 

My wingman and I are the second pair to approach the Devastator. Tiny and Sslurr have already been eaten by the beast. I wonder if they’re part of droid fighters now attacking me. Flashes of white light burst outside my canopy, reminding me of the flashes of the holocams. A yell and a burst of static. Looks like I’m center stage as I approach the command center, lasers lighting my way. The heroic pilot, Flight Officer Garik Loran, dodges death, looping and rolling, dancing his way through the deadly of wave of red death. He carefully lines up his target and fires, jets of light hurtling towards the target. 

A miss. I guess life isn’t like a holo after all. There will be no happy ending for this star. Out of missiles, I line up my craft and open the throttle of the spry little A-Wing to full. Good-bye cold, cruel world, hello Wynssa and the Force. I wonder what General Crispin will


	18. 10 ABY - Gus Treta - Reconstruction

10 ABY

Gus Treta Station

Reconstruction

“Need a refill already?” A smile curved the streaks of white in Jagged’s dark blonde beard as his jerked his head towards Booster’s empty glass. “Going through the Whyren’s rather quickly, aren’t you?” 

Booster snorted and held his glass towards the proffered bottle of whisky. “An old starship like me needs plenty of lubricant.” 

Jagged replaced the bottle on the table and leaned back in his chair. “If starships took that much lubricant, this station wouldn’t be big enough to hold a single starfighter’s worth. I’d have to buy a chain of fuel refiners just to supply one of our stations.” 

“Why buy the refinery when you can skip the taxes by buying from me?” Booster shot back, hoping to push Jagged off his current course. 

Instead of responding with usual quip about the joys of paying taxes, Jagged’s expression saddened. “Because I prefer you out here rather than on an airless rock mining spice.” 

“That makes two of us,” said Booster softly. He toyed with his glass before tossing back his final sip. 

“Four,” Jagged inclined his head towards the two women in the other room. Both with dark, short hair; they were speaking adamantly with each other. What appeared to be Mirax’s financial log glowed on the projector before them. “They both were quite the mess. Five, when you add Veggies.” 

Booster speared Jagged with a glare; the effect aided by his red optical replacement. “And here I thought she was a mess because that boy of yours yanked out her heart and stomped on it a few times.”

“And shot it for good measure, I know. I still say any damage done was mutual.” He eyes drifted back to the pair of women. “I’m glad you brought her over, we’ve missed seeing her. Especially Zena.” 

“We were on our way to pick up a cargo,” Booster dismissed gruffly. “Bel Iblis’ and Horn’s little arrangement means less Imp interference on runs through here. Business is booming.” 

“And I thought you said the galaxy had ended the day Rostek Horn became diktat.” Before Booster could retort, he added, “Business has been better for Wedge, too. We’ve had a lot of folks from the New Republic stop by looking for his help in reconstruction.” 

“And then they run the other way when they find out he’s some nerf-brained idiot who still lives with his parents,” Booster muttered without any real vehemence in his voice. 

“I’m sure it’s the same reaction you get when your clients learn you’re an old washed up wreck who ships under his daughter,” Jagged shot back. 

Booster raised his empty glass in salute, but his reply was cutoff by the opening of the small apartment’s door. “Mom, Dad, I’m home,” a voice called out as a man walked into the living room. “Mirax! What, uh, why, uh, happy Endor Day?” From his seat, Booster could see Wedge’s shocked face as his gazed down at Mirax, who was frozen in the act of rising from the couch. 

Booster had hoped to be gone before Wedge got home from work to avoid such a meeting, but Zena took his early arrival in stride. She rose and pecked Wedge on his cheek. “Booster and Mirax are here for diner. Have a seat, the braised nerf should be done soon. Let me go check on it.” She pushed him gently into a chair opposing Mirax and bustled into the kitchen where Jagged and Booster sat, closing the divider behind her. 

“Zena, better open that door so I can have a clear shot at that rogue of yours,” Booster growled softly. 

“Booster Terrik, you will not hurt my son,” Zena hissed. “If you harm one hair on his head, I’ll see that your hide isn’t fit for making wallets, let alone wearing.” 

Silence fell over the kitchen. The three of them strained their ears for any signs of conversation coming from the living room. Eventually, Zena made her way to the food processor from which sweet smells of braised nerf exuded. 

“I said I was sorry, what more do you want?” Wedge’s shouted plea broke the silence.

Booster shot from his seat, his hand on his blaster, before a hand firmly pushed him back into his seat. Jagged glanced warningly at him, not removing his hand, his features hard. 

“I don’t know!” Mirax’s sob rang in the air. “I just want…I’ve always wanted…” the rest of her request was inaudible to the three eavesdroppers. 

The silence returned, more tense then the last. Booster made to stand again, but Zena’s glare stopped him. Quietly, she crept back to the divider. She triggered the door, which opened a few centimeters silently on its repulsorlifts. Peering through for an instant, she quickly shut the door. 

Turning her back to the men, Zena returned to her work in the kitchen. “Well?” Booster hissed. 

The smile on Zena’s face was almost as telling as the place setting she laid out beside Mirax’s seat. The reconstruction of their family had begun. 


End file.
